


The Wonders of Caffeine Deprivation

by BuzzCat



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, I doubt this man has so much as SEEN a vegetable, also if you're curious I might continue this, fun fact: ford definitely has scurvy, in like six months
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-20 21:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16563479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuzzCat/pseuds/BuzzCat
Summary: When Stan shows up, Ford is jumpy as an alley cat. An effect, Stan quickly realizes, caused by a caffeine dependence.Funny, how little things like coffee can change a story.





	The Wonders of Caffeine Deprivation

Stanley stood on the porch in the dead of Oregon winter. Everything he owned was packed up in the Stanley Mobile parked in the driveway behind him. He took a deep breath and let it out, muttering under his breath,

“Easy, Stanley. You haven’t seen your brother in over ten years.”

He knocked on the door. In some deep part that went untouched by Colombian prison and going hungry and cold too many nights, he hoped Ford would open the door and pull him in. Apologize for not stopping Pa all those years ago, agree that the debacle with the machine was an accident, and beg Stanley to forgive him. Ford would cry, maybe just a little, and Stanley would be glad to forgive him. It had been so long, so many years of fighting with no one else in his corner and Stanley was tired of it. Just so mind-numbingly tired of being alone. Being without his twin.

The door swung open.

“Have you come to steal my EYES?” Ford stood in the doorway, crossbow in hand and pointed directly between Stanley’s eyes.

_Classic Ford._

“Sheesh. I can always count on you for a warm welcome.” Ford blinked and in the second it took him to realize who was on his porch, Stanley really took a look at his brother. Ford was skinny, too skinny. Like he hadn’t seen a full meal in weeks sort of skinny. There were bags big enough to carry groceries in under his eyes. But despite all the telling signs of the kind of tired that laid most people flat on their ass, Ford seemed to radiate manic energy. That was all it took to tell Stanley that something was definitely wrong with his brother.

Ford dragged him into the house and shined a light in Stan’s eyes. Stan flinched and instinctively tried to step back from the bright light,

“What the hell, Ford!”

Ford simply pocketed the flashlight, glancing around the house like he expected every shadow to reach out and grab him.

“Nothing to worry, Stanley. I just had to make sure…never mind. Come in, come in.” Ford went further into the house. Stanley followed, brow furrowed,

“Jeez, you’re acting like Mom after her tenth cup of coffee.”

“Hm? Ah yes, Mom and her coffee, quite something indeed,” Ford replied distractedly. As they walked through the house, Stanley happened to catch a glimpse of the kitchen. Empty coffee mugs filled the sink and had spilled out onto the counter. There was no surface of the cupboards or counters that wasn’t covered in dubious stains, dirty dishes, or notes written in a language Stanley couldn’t read. Food was slowly rotting on the counter and he had to stop himself from gagging. The only clean things in the kitchen were two different coffee pots, one half full and the other already brewing another pot. Stanley turned to Ford and glared,

“How long have you been living like this?”

“Hm?” Ford looked at him, eyes flickering to the kitchen when Stanley jabbed his thumb in that direction. He shook off the implied critique,

“Oh, don’t worry about that. My assistant used to clean that up, but he quit for, ah, health reasons. I’ll get to it later. But listen, Stanley, I have something to show you, something very important. You may not understand what you’re about to see.” Ford opened a door and started heading down to the basement, not even checking if Stanley would follow. He followed anyway, a little slower as he muttered under his breath,

“Oh, I understand alright.” He understood that whatever the hell was happening, Ford was literally falling apart over it. Drugs, too much coffee, overinvolvement in work; whatever it was, it stopped now.

When they got to the bottom of the staircase, all thoughts of Ford’s strange behavior flew out of his head.

“I understand nothing about this.”

“It’s a transdimensional gateway,” Ford said, a manic gleam to his eye that Stanley was the opposite of comforted to see. Ford started to drone on about what the thing was and what it could do, but Stanley wasn’t paying attention. He was watching his brother. Watching his brother’s jerky moves, the way his fingers seemed to jitter. The desk beside him had three different coffee cups on it, all of them at various stages of empty and congealing slime around the rim. Ford reached for one to take a sip and Stanley reached out and plucked it from his brother’s hand without even thinking. Ford brought his hand up to take a drink before even registering that the cup was gone. When nothing came to his lips, however, he looked to Stanley in confusion. His eyes zeroed in on the cup in Stanley’s hand,

“Stanley, what are you doing? Give me my coffee back.”

Stan looked into the cup and grimaced before looking back at Ford, “Absolutely not, this shit is molded over. I didn’t even know it was supposed to be _coffee_. Ford, what the hell happened to you?” Ford hesitated a moment, just for the smallest of seconds, and Stanley thought maybe his brother would come clean. But the moment passed, and Ford rolled his eyes,

“It doesn’t matter. But Stanley, there’s something I need you to do for me.”

“Clean your kitchen?” Stanley shot back.

“What? No.” Ford was clearly trying not to let Stanley’s interjections ruffle him as he took a deep breath, “Do you remember our plan to sail around the world?”

There it was, that damnable hope rising again. Ford remembered their plan. He and Ford were going to sail around the world. Stanley might never get that apology and Ford might never feel like he had to apologize, but that was okay. If he had his brother back, they could figure out the rest of it later. Stanley smiled.

He could have kicked himself, in retrospect.

“I want you to take this journal,” Ford pulled a notebook out of his coat and thrust it at Stanley, who took it out of instinct, “get on a boat, and sail as far away from here as possible. To the ends of the earth.” Ford stepped back, keeping eye contact to make sure Stanley understood exactly what he was asking him to do.

Stanley’s face fell and just like that, anger kindled in his gut.

“That’s what you brought me out here for? After ten years of fucking nothing, you called me out here to tell me to get as far away from you as possible? Do you realize how insane that is?” Stan glared at his brother.

“Please, Stanley. We can debate the sanity of my actions when the entire world isn’t at stake!” Ford said, waving his arms in emphasis. He was shaking a little at this point, brow furrowed and pupils blown. Stanley thought he could practically see a racing pulse in his brother’s neck. Something in him took over, something he had undoubtedly picked up from living rough for ten years, too used to seeing someone out of their mind on crank and ready to fight the first thing in their path.

He pulled back and punched his brother in the face.

Ford, who hadn’t been expecting to get punched in his own house, dropped like a sack of potatoes. Stanley knew from experience that when someone gets dropped like that, they weren’t getting up right away. Without a second of hesitation, he slung Ford over his shoulder and walked back up the stairs, leaving the basement quiet and empty. A triangular shadow watched him go upstairs, plotting in the darkness and biding his time.

 

When Ford woke up, the first thing he became aware of was a splitting pain in the side of his head. That was new, though not unexpected. He groaned, bringing a hand up to the aching spot, and found himself instead prodding at an ice pack. He opened his eyes slowly, groggily. Then shut them again at the bright sunlight that covered his face. Distantly, somewhere where he wasn’t processing the pain in his skull, he wondered how long it had been since he’d seen direct sunlight. He couldn’t really remember. Huh.

He tried to open his eyes again, this time shading them with his hand. He was in his bedroom, laying on his bed. The curtains were open for the first time he could remember, and the light coming in told him he had slept through whatever had been left of yesterday and halfway through today.

Yesterday.

The events of the previous day came flooding back to him. Stanley. The journal. The punch.

He jumped out of bed, reading to go track down his good-for-nothing brother and punch him right back. However, as soon as his feet hit the floor, the pounding in his head exploded. Without even realizing it, he reached for a cup of coffee beside his bed that wasn’t there. Somehow that managed to ratchet up his mood from angry to downright furious. He walked gingerly out of the room, trying not to aggravate his head, and walked straight to the kitchen.

He stepped in and had to do a double-take.

The kitchen was clean. Really clean.

The counters were empty, the rotting food gone and the dirty dishes clean. All of the notes had been piled into one corner. The sink was clean, the stains scrubbed out and all those dirty dishes clean as well. His coffee pots, however, were nowhere to be seen.

All of that paled, however, in comparison the sight of his brother, standing in front of the stove, making…eggs and pancakes?

He must have made a racket coming in, because Stanley turned around. He didn’t look exactly pleased to see Ford, but greeted him nonetheless,

“Good, you’re up. I was afraid I’d decked ya harder than I meant to.”

All of Ford’s anger suddenly returned at the mention of getting punched.

“WHY—” He cut himself off as the loud noise made his head pound. He continued in a slightly more reasonable tone, “why the hell did you punch me in the first place?”

Stanley scoffed as he put some scrambled eggs on a plate and slid it onto the table, “You kidding me? You were looking at me with crazy eyes. Last time I saw those, it was a guy out of his head on drugs and he knifed me. Wasn’t going to catch that again.”

 _Stanley got knifed?_ Ford filed that fact away to think on later.

“That’s no excuse for punching me. How long was I out?”

“Almost fourteen hours.”

 _Fourteen hours?_ Bill could have wreaked all kinds of havoc in that time. Could have—

Ford jumped forward, startling his brother. He reached for Stanley’s eyes, holding his eyelid up as far as he could and checking for the telltale cat-like pupils. Stanley was yelling at him and struggling, but Ford didn’t let go until he was sure that Stanley’s pupils were 100% human. Ford let Stanley go and stepped back before his brother could get another punch in. Stanley glared at Ford suspiciously before turning back and flipping the pancakes before they burned.

“Why do you keep checking my eyes?”

“I’m not checking your eyes,” Ford answered reflexively. Stanley turned and gave him a look. Ford shrugged, “I’m just checking for signs of gamma radiation.”

Stanley didn’t even turn around, “Pull the other one, Sixer, it’s got bells on.”

 _Sixer_. Bill had called him Sixer. The word sent a shiver over Ford’s spine, not unlike the feeling of someone walking over his grave. But it hadn’t been Bill’s voice that had said it. Stanley said it. His twin brother. His brother he hadn’t seen for ten years, his brother who ruined his life. Not the dream demon that was trying to bring about the apocalypse.

Ford wasn’t sure which one he would have preferred.

“What?” Ford asked, coming out of his tangential thought train to Stanley looking at him impatiently. Stanley rolled his eyes,

“C’mon, you thought I somehow wouldn’t notice you attacking my face and trying to look deep into my eyes? What the hell is going on?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“Ford, I swear to God, you say ‘nothing’ one more time and I will search this entire house from top to bottom until I find the answers I need,” Stanley threatened. Ford’s annoyance with his brother grew, as did his annoyance at the distinct lack of coffee in front of him. He began opening and closing cupboards, looking for his coffee pots. Nothing. He turned to Stanley, who was still waiting for an explanation,

“Where’d you put my coffee pots, Stanley?”

“I put them away, knucklehead. Tell me what’s going on.”

“What? Why would you hide my coffee pots?”

“Because you were so hopped up on caffeine I thought your heart was going to explode out of your chest. Now sit down, eat your breakfast, and tell me what’s going on.”

He hated when Stanley got like this, so bullheaded; there was no arguing with him now. Ford sighed and pulled out a chair, sinking down in front of the cooling scrambled eggs. He ate a piece, and then another. They were a bit burnt, but serviceable. How long had it been since he’d had actual food?

Before he knew it, his plate was empty. Stanley just flipped a couple of pancakes onto it, placing the syrup on the table. Before Ford could even ask, Stanley reached in the cupboard and pulled out the powdered sugar, putting it on the table as well. Ford refused to be touched that his brother still remembered how he liked his pancakes. They’d had breakfast together for eighteen years after all, Stanley had had plenty of time to learn.

Ford liberally applied syrup and powdered sugar to his pancakes as Stanley dished himself a plate of pancakes and eggs. Ford took a bite as Stanley sat down across from him, folded his arms and made no move to begin eating.

“Tell me what the fuck is going on, Ford.”

Ford took his time chewing. He couldn’t just tell Stanley. There was so much to explain, so much that could go over his brother’s head.

So much he didn’t want to admit.

He knew Stanley would roll his eyes at whatever he told him. Some parts of the story were just too fantastical to believe if you hadn’t been there. And Ford also knew Stanley wouldn’t understand about Bill. About feeling like a freak, like an outsider with no way in until Bill had appeared, like the fairy godmothers in folk tales, and offered him the chance for greatness. Stanley would never understand the elation Ford had felt when Bill had called him ‘the man who changed the universe’. How could Ford explain?

Eventually, the bite of pancake had become mush and Ford was forced to swallow it down and answer Stanley’s increasingly impatient expression.

“I had…a partner in the project. I thought our goals aligned, to learn more about the things that make Gravity Falls so different. Our theory was that the weirdness has been leaking into our dimension from another. We were trying to create a portal to look into that other dimension and see what was there. My partner lied, however. He had proof that operating the portal could bring about the destruction of our universe. When I found out, we fought. He left.”

Stanley was still giving Ford an unimpressed look, although his eyebrows had slowly risen to become a part of his hairline. Ford broke his gaze, looking down at his plate,

“That’s, uh, that’s it.”

“’That’s it?’” Stanley echoed. He stood up, “Sixer, what the hell? As freaking insane as that story is, it doesn’t explain why the hell you keep checking my eyes like the world’s worst orthodontist.”

“Optometrist, Stanley. An orthodontist—”

“Can it, Ford. Something in your story isn’t adding up,” Stanley said, eyeing Ford suspiciously. His brother not wanting to explain, Stanley understood that. Hell, there were all kinds of things he never wanted to explain. But Ford was all-out _lying_ to him, and that wasn’t going to fly with Stanley. Ford never lied. Not even when he could have gotten away with it as a kid. Ford had always—annoyingly—stood by the truth unless he was lying about something for Stanley. But Ford lying about something like this? Somehow that had Stanley more worried than anything else he’d seen since stepping into the house.

Ford was still sitting there, chewing on a new bite of pancake and clearly stalling for time. Stanley saw him practically squirming under the examination and felt the leash on his temper finally snap,

“Dammit Ford, just tell me! What the fuck happened? Why’d you call me out here for a damn book?” Stanley pulled the journal off the counter where it had been sitting and threw it on the table in front of Ford. Ford’s eyes narrowed, and he glared at Stanley,

“Because I need you to take this book as far away from me as possible, weren’t you listening?”

“Yeah. Yeah I was listening,” Stanley said, standing up. He looked at Ford and Ford was inexplicably hurt by what he saw in his brother’s eyes. Something hard and resolute, somehow still radiating pain and disappointment. “I heard you tell me you brought me out here for a book. For a fucking book, Ford.”

“It’s a journal, St—”

“I don’t give a fuck what it is, Ford!” Stanley exclaimed, throwing the book at the wall. It thumped against the wall and fell to the floor, like a bird flying into a window. Ford squawked indignantly but Stanley wasn’t listening, “You sent me a postcard that said ‘please come’. Ten years, ten fucking years, and that’s what you’ve got? ‘Please come’?”

“Well you came, didn’t you?” Ford said irritably. Clearly, this was the wrong thing to say as he saw Stanley turn a frightening shade of red.

“I thought you were injured or dying or on the run or something! I thought that maybe you wanted to APOLOGIZE!” Stanley thundered, and the last word seemed to echo in the kitchen.

That was the last straw for Ford. He stood up from the table, glowering.

“You thought that _I_ would apologize? You’re the one who needs to apologize, Stanley! You ruined my chances for West Point Tech! I went to Backupsmore! Do you know what I could have achieved, the kinds of people I could have met at West Point Tech? You ruined my life!”

Stanley screamed, the kind of animalistic frustration that made Ford wince for how a sound like that can destroy a throat.

“I ruined your life? You think your life was ruined? I’ve been to jail in three different countries! I have chewed my way out of a car trunk! You want to whine about Backupsmore? You have no idea what I’ve done, what I’ve had to do. I’ve had to lie cheat and steal for ten years so I wouldn’t fucking DIE!”

“And whose fault is that?” Ford shouted back, “You want to lay the blame for your mistakes at my feet? If you had ever, even once in your life, applied yourself none of that would have happened. If you hadn’t been riding my coattails for our entire childhood, you could have made something of yourself instead of turning out an ignorant useless WASTE!”

Silence.

With an impact like an anvil, Ford realized what he’d said. And while he certainly hadn’t phrased it the best, it was true. Stanley had always copied off him in school and never once even tried to learn anything for himself. And sure, Stanley had protected him from bullies, but that was just common decency, nothing special.

In the quiet of the kitchen, Stan still said nothing.

Ford didn’t take the words back.

Stanley turned around and turned off the heat on the stove, where the oil had been starting to smoke in the empty pancake pan. Stanley looked at him for only a second, long enough for Ford to see the brimming tears, before he turned and walked out of the house.

Ford stood in the kitchen, not moving, not speaking.

He listened to Stanley unlock the four deadbolts on the door, listened to the door creak open. He felt the draft of winter come sweeping through the kitchen, bringing up goosebumps on his legs. He listened to the door slam shut.

Ford did nothing. He did not chase after his brother. He did not apologize. He stood in the kitchen, thinking. And then he realized there was nothing left in his head to think about.

Bill, the danger of the portal, getting rid of the journal. All of it was overlaid with white static, like the sound of dead air was all that was left in his head. Everything he had ever tried not to think about regarding his twin suddenly seemed to swirl in his mind, thoughts and feelings overlaid and mixed so much to create an overwhelming nothing.

Ford turned slowly and saw the breakfast still sitting on the table, steam still rising. How could it still be warm? It felt like so long since he’d sat down and Stanley had put food in front of him. Ford walked to the fallen journal and picked it up, smoothing out some of the crinkled pages before tucking it in his pocket. He turned to leave the kitchen, debating about putting away the breakfast food but deciding against it. It would keep; he could take care of it later.

Ford went back down to the basement.

 

 

It was a while later—hours? a full day? Ford had been busy dismantling the portal—that he emerged from the basement. There was no way of telling what time it was, with the windows boarded up. Ford could hear the wind whistling outside. He stepped into the kitchen, intent upon finding his coffee makers and making a few pots. Why Stanley felt the need to hide them, he couldn’t imagine. It helped him think, helped him work harder and longer.

The breakfast he’d left on the table hadn’t fared well through the day. The eggs were congealed and cold and the pancakes tough, dried out. Ford left them on the table. He’d wait until he did dishes; he’d take care of it then.

After scouring the kitchen and then the hallway, Ford finally found his coffee makers, one behind the couch and the other in the secret panel in the bookcase. He plugged them in and got them working. He turned to the notes Stanley had moved, intending to sort through them and reorganize them. Honestly, why Stanley ever thought he could just shift around Ford’s research baffled him. Why would—

The phone rang, pulling Ford from his thoughts.

He eyed it suspiciously. He wasn’t expecting a call from anyone. Fiddleford had been out of contact for a while, his parents hadn’t even tried calling him in years, and he sincerely doubted Stanley had anything to say to him. It was probably a telemarketer. As he began sorting his notes, he distantly heard the machine pick it up and the caller began leaving a message,

“Hello Mr. Pines, this is Agnes from the Roadkill County Hospital. We’ve got a Stanley Pines in here—”

Ford dropped the note he was holding and ran for the phone.

“—he’s got a postcard with your address on it, so we were just wondering—"

“Yes? Hello? This is Stanford Pines.”

“Oh Mr. Pines. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day! This is Agnes—”

“Yes yes I know who this is. What’s wrong with my brother?”

“Your brother? Stanley Pines?”

Ford could have torn his hair out. Why was everyone being so _slow_?

“Yes, Stanley Pines, the man you’re calling me about. What’s wrong with him?”

“Well he was brought in with hypothermia, see. Some tourists found him on the side of the road just outside of town. Looked like he’d been walking a while.”

 _Walking_? That didn’t make sense, Stanley had driven to Gravity Falls, that’s the only way he’d have made it as fast as he did when Ford sent him the postcard. The nurse had continued talking and Ford hastily tuned back in,

“—a couple questions about his medical history because there’s a few things we’ve turned up that are a little concerning.”

“His medical history? I don’t know, we, ah…haven’t spoken in a while.”

“Oh! Well, in that case, if you could explain some of—”

“What’s the address?”

“Sorry?”

“What’s the hospital address? I’ll be there shortly.” The nurse gave it to him and Ford pulled a permanent marker from his pocket, writing it on his hand. He hung up and dashed to the door, glad for once that he tended to live in a trench coat and boots as it made it far easier to leave quickly. He opened the door and sure enough, the Stanley Mobile was still parked in his driveway, layered in snow so deeply he could barely tell what car it was. It had been a while since he’d driven (since Stanley had taught him to drive in this very same car), but Ford was sure it would all come back to him. He pulled the door open and slid into the driver’s seat. The part of him that wasn’t thinking about his brother was absolutely appalled at the state of the interior. Fast food wrapper, dirty clothes, and everything Stanley had ever thrown away seemed to litter the inside of the car. When Ford looked at the back seat it became immediately apparent that everything Stanley owned had been loaded into the car. But he couldn’t think about his brother living out of a car right now. Right now, he needed keys.

They weren’t in the visor, weren’t in the glove box. Stanley had probably had them in his pocket when he’d gone for his little walk. Why in the hell would he—

Drive now. Get angry later.

Ford leaned under the steering wheel, pulling at the plastic paneling until it came away to expose the inner wiring of the car. He reached back in his memory, deep into his high school years. There had been one day when, despite Ford’s protests, Stanley had spent an hour teaching him how to hotwire a car. Ford had paid attention only because the mechanics of the electrics was interesting, not because he’d ever thought he’d have to do it. Ford found the wires and hastily cut them with a knife he found tucked beside the driver’s seat. He touched them together. Nothing. He tried again. Nothing again. Ford swore to himself. Stanley must have walked because his car wouldn’t start. Why he thought walking was a good idea, Ford couldn’t imagine, but it meant Ford was just as stuck as Stanley. He ran back into the house, running through everyone he knew in town.

The list in totality included Fiddleford and Manly Dan.

Ford picked up the phone and dialed the lumberjack’s number.

 

 

Barely an hour later, Ford was standing in Roadkill County Hospital. Dan had been surprised to get a phone call from the Mad Scientist in the Woods (his words, not Ford’s) but had been more than understanding once Ford explained the situation. Dan had been there in minutes, driving a pickup that seemed to exist specifically for cutting through snow drifts. They’d sped to the hospital, a grim sort of set to both Ford and Dan’s faces. Dan had dropped him off, leaving Ford his phone number in case he needed a ride back.

And now Ford was here. At Roadkill County Hospital, staring at his brother, unconscious and pale in a hospital bed. When Ford saw the needles poking into his brother’s hand and listened to the heart monitor, he remembered all the times Stanley had refused to go to the hospital as a child, all the cajoling it had taken both his mother and him to get Stanley to quit protesting and to get Filibrick to pay for hospital bills. Ford wondered if Stanley still hated hospitals now as much as he had then.

Ford saw his brother’s chart hanging off the end of the bed and he snatched it up. The nurse had mentioned something about concerning medical issues and now Ford had to know.

Funny, that. Stan had told him he’d been knifed, that he’d chewed his way out of a car, and Ford hadn’t cared. Now, confronted with his brother laid out in a hospital bed, suddenly Ford had to know.

 _You’re such a carer Sixer,_ said the lingering sarcastic voice in his head. Ford couldn’t tell if it was Bill or Stan’s voice and he didn’t particularly care to parse it out.

He picked up the chart, flipping through.

 _Patient presented with moderate to serious case of hypothermia. Warmed with heat packs; patient is stable. Patient history unknown but multiple scars are present. Scars present on right thigh and right lateral torso consistent with stabbings…tattoo removal scar on upper right bicep…scar tissue in shoulder consistent with bullet wound…_ The list kept going and each entry made Ford’s stomach clench. Ten years was a long time, but how could it be long enough for this? What had happened to his brother?

Ford slumped into the chair beside the bed and without meaning to, he slipped into sleep.

 

As soon as Ford opened his eyes, he recognized this dream. With the black and white, the dilapidated portal, the ramshackle Stan o’ War in the field. Ford could recognize the mindscape when he saw it.

The cackling he knew uncomfortably well suddenly surrounded him. It seemed to come from everywhere, from the air in front of him. From himself even, though Ford knew it wasn’t possible. He turned, the fear from the day fueling his anger,

“Show yourself you demon!”

“You’re going to have to do better than that Fordsy. I’ve met children who trash-talk better than you,” Bill said behind him. Ford turned and found himself face-to-face with the one-eyed monster that haunted his every night. He instinctively took a step back, falling off the edge of a cliff that hadn’t been there before. And he was falling, falling. The field disappeared into a void of black, just him and Bill. Bill lazed through the air, floating around Ford,

“Well fancy seeing you here.”

“It’s my mind, Bill. Now what do you want?”

“Hm. Tough crowd. What happened to that bantering Ford I used to know?” Bill asked, doing a flip through the air.

“Enough Bill. Get out of my head.” Ford commanded. Bill paused, tapping the bottom of his eye,

“Hm…you know? I think NOT.” Ford jumped as Bill suddenly grew twenty times in size and turned red. He’d seen it more times than he could count, but Ford jumped every time.

“What do you want? You can’t cut a deal with me.” Bill shrank back to his normal size in a blink, too fast for Ford to follow.

“No, I can’t. But—wait, what’s this? Your brother is here? And _asleep_? Oh of all the gin joints in all the world! He seems like the kind of guy always down for a wager. You know,” Bill’s gaze slid over to Ford, “a **_deal_**.”

“NO!” Ford lunged for Bill, his hand passing right through. Bill cackled and zoomed away. And Ford was falling, falling—

Ford awoke with a gasp. Everything flooded his mind.

Stanley. Bill. Bill was—

Stanley shouted as he woke up, sitting straight up in bed and lunging for something that wasn’t there. His eyes—while thankfully normal— had a hunted, haunted look that Ford did not like at all. Ford leaped up and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder,

“Stanley! Did you make a deal? Did you shake his hand?”

“Ford? Wha…?” Stan looked down to see the IVs stuck in his hand and the heartrate monitor on his finger. Stan made a move to pull them out and Ford stopped him instinctively. Stanley had always tried to pull out his IVs as a child and Ford had always had to stop or distract him. Ford clamped his hand on Stanley’s before he could do more than jostle the IV.

“No! Stanley, tell me. Did you make a deal?”

Stanley looked up from his hand, frowning at Ford,

“A deal with who? And what the hell are you doing here? Where am I?”

“Did you make a deal with Bill?”

“What? Ford—”

“DID YOU SHAKE HIS HAND?” Ford shouted, his voice more fear than anger. Something in the fear must have clicked with Stanley because he stopped and frowned, thinking on his dream.

“Bill? Yellow triangle, ugly-ass eye in the middle of his head?”

“Yes,” Ford said breathlessly. If Bill had made a deal with Stan, that was it. Ford didn’t know what the next step was after that.

Stanley frowned, poking experimentally at his IV, “Are you kidding me? That guy was the biggest con I’ve ever seen. No, I didn’t shake his damn hand.”

Ford let out a breath, sagging in his posture. Of course, of course Stanley could immediately see the lying demon for what he truly was. He was always much shrewder than Ford could ever be.

Stanley looked at him, confused,

“How did you know I had a dream about a triangle named Bill?”

Ford felt his stomach drop. He had to own up to his choices, especially if Bill was going to take an interest in his younger brother. He couldn’t lie to Stan now if lying meant Stan would be unprepared the next time Bill showed up.

“Bill was…my partner. On the portal.”

Stan’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, “Your partner? The one who wanted to end the world? Bill is _that_ guy?”

Ford nodded. Stan frowned at him and started shouting,

“What the FUCK, Ford? Why the hell would you work with that guy? What—”

“Well, it’s good to see our newest patient is awake!” A nurse sailed into the room, smiling like she hadn’t just heard shouting from inside. Ford and Stanley turned as one to look at her. She smiled and laughed, “Yep, you guys sure are brothers! It’s just uncanny!”

Ford watched, could literally see the moment that Stan’s mask went back up. Suddenly his brother was no longer his brother, but instead that conman Ford had always pretended not to recognize in late-night commercials.

“Well hello—” Stan glanced at her nametag, “Agnes, what’s an angel like you doing in a place like this?”

Agnes blushed, covering her mouth as she laughed,

“Why taking care of you, of course.” The interaction had taken less than two seconds and already Ford was tearing his hair out. How could he talk to his brother about anything important with a nurse hovering over them? Stan, however, was laughing and flirting like they had all the time in the world to make nice with strangers,

“Me? Well, I’ve been taking care of myself for ten years, I don’t imagine there’s much for you to do here. As a matter of fact, the faster I get out of here, the faster you and I could go get dinner,” Stan said, wiggling his eyebrows. The nurse blushed even deeper,

“Well as nice as that would be, Mr. Pines, I think we should probably patch you up first.”

“Nah, I think I’m doing just fine,” Stanley said. The nurse shook her head disapprovingly,

“Now now, Mr. Pines, hypothermia of the severity you had is no laughing matter. Now, what do you remember last before waking up here?”

Ford felt something in his stomach both drop and soar. Stanley might not remember. In some cases, hypothermic patients had been known to lose a portion of their memory immediately leading up to the incident. He might not remember the words Ford had said, the worst things Ford had ever said. But if Stanley couldn’t remember, that was frightening in its own right.

Stan’s brow furrowed as he reached back, “I was at Ford’s house. I…I made breakfast.”

“Pancakes and eggs,” Ford supplied. The nurse tutted at him,

“Thank you, Mr. Pines, but it’s better if the other Mr. Pines remembers on his own.”

“Yeah yeah,” Stanley said, ignoring the nurse’s interjection, “eggs and pancakes. And I had to grab you the powdered sugar for your pancakes because I guess you still think that somehow makes a difference. And…” Ford could see the exact moment that Stanley remembered, could practically hear his own words echoing in his brother’s head. _Ignorant useless_ _waste_. Stanley’s eyes widened and his face did something strange before he shut that feeling down, before he could see his brother shut all feelings down, “And Ford and I realized that the house was out of powdered sugar so I was going to drive into town to get more, but the car wouldn’t start so I started walking and…well I guess someone picked me up after that,” Stanley finished, flashing the nurse a fake winning smile. Agnes turned to Ford,

“Is that true, Mr. Pines?”

“Yes, i-it is.” Ford’s lying was nowhere near as good as Stanley’s but the nurse bought it anyway, making a few notes on her clipboard.

“Well, that’s a very good sign. Well, all things being as they are, I’d still like to keep you the rest of the day for observation, just in case there are side effects we haven’t noticed yet.”

“Aw, Agnes, you don’t have to do that. I’m fit as a fiddle, see!” Stanley made a move to stand up but thought better of it when he looked down and realized he was wearing only a hospital gown. He looked up at the nurse, “Well if we can’t get out of here, could I at least get my clothes back? I’d hate for a pretty lady like you to see me in anything but my best,” he said with a wink. Agnes seemed to be thinking it over, and Ford was relatively certain that a medical professional, even in Roadkill County, wouldn’t fall for Stanley’s flattery. But then again, it was Roadkill County and even in Gravity Falls, people seemed to fall for the strangest things,

Sure enough, the nurse folded like cheap lawn furniture, giggling as she said,

“Well, I suppose that wouldn’t hurt anything. Let me go get ‘em.” She walked out, leaving Stanley and Ford alone. Stanley looked at Ford, something about his face too hard and too bright,

“Why don’t you go ahead and go back to the house, Sixer. Once I get my clothes back, I’m out of here and I’ll meet you there.”

“What? Stanley, I’ve looked at your chart. You were brought in with severe hypothermia, you can’t just leave.”

“Eh, I’ve walked out of a hospital with worse.”

Ford’s thoughts flashed back to what else he had read on the chart and he replied quietly, “I believe you have.” Stan looked at him in confusion before Ford hesitantly elaborated, “Your chart also mentioned past medical issues. Scars and such. Stanley…” Ford trailed off. His brother had been shot, stabbed, and possibly a whole other host of things, things that didn’t leave scars anyone could see. What was Ford supposed to do?

Stanley saved him from having to continue, waving away Ford’s concerns,

“Whatever you read wasn’t true. I’m just fine, absolutely and one-hundred-percent okay. Once she gets back I’ll blow this dump and once I get the Stanley Mobile going then I’ll get out of your hair—”

“Stanley, that—”

“Don’t worry about it Ford,” Stanley said, looking at him with a great big fake grin. And that more than anything, that fake smile that lit up Stanley’s face like an unshaded lamp with light too harsh and shadows too stark, that was what punched Ford in the gut. Stanley had always been real with him. When Stanley was lying to the whole damn world, he’d always been real with Ford. Because Ford was his twin, Ford was his family, and when it came down to it, Stanley couldn’t lie like this to the people he cared about.

But now, now he could lie to Ford. He could lie with that conman smile that everything was fine, everything was great, no Ford shouldn’t be worried why would Ford ever worry when the whole world is just a-okay. Ford had never seen his brother try so hard to pretend to someone that he was okay, and it broke Ford’s heart.

“Stanley…” He made to sit down on the chair beside the bed. Something in Stanley’s expression seemed to crack and he dropped his voice, saying quietly,

“Ford, you need to get back to the house. I don’t know what this Bill guy is up to, but you have to be there to stop him. If what you told me is true, the entirety of Gravity Falls is in danger if you aren’t at the house to stop Bill.”

Ford froze, half-sitting. Stanley was right. The portal was still in the basement; all it took was one flip of the switch to tear their dimension apart. Ford should be guarding it, dismantling it, something. And besides, Stanley had made it ten years, surely one little hospital break wouldn’t—

Ford glanced up and saw Stanley, his expression hopeful like a man watching the dice in Vegas. His brother was gambling…on him. Gambling that he could make Ford go away. Like a jolt to the head, Ford saw his brother’s plan laid out crystal clear. Make Ford leave, go back to his house. Stanley would escape the hospital. With Ford in the basement guarding the machine, Stanley could fix his car and leave before Ford even realized he was gone, neatly avoiding whatever conversation Ford was trying to have (in truth, Ford didn’t even know what conversation he was trying to have but he knew they had to have it). His brother was trying to disappear and was willing to use Ford’s research as a distraction.

Suddenly, all of Ford’s heartbreak was anger.

“Stop it, Stanley. Stop trying to leave.”

Stan’s lie was cracking, constantly shellacked over with whatever conman varnish he had. Stanley’s grin was shaking as he pulled out his butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth expression, “Me? Leave? Ford, I—wait, what?” He dropped the act and rolled his eyes, “Ford, of course I’m trying to leave. That’s why you called me here, isn’t it? Hand me the notebook so I can get the hell out of your life. Got it, can do.” His brother gave him a flippant thumbs-up and Ford wanted to scream. Instead, he hissed,

“Stop it. Stop lying to me. Stop acting like everything is fine. You were shot, Stanley. Stabbed. Why the hell didn’t—”

“It was a long time ago, Sixer. Frankly, I was a little busy trying to not bleed out in the middle of fucking nowhere, Montana or some shit. Really, I’m okay, just go—”

“No.”

Stanley froze.

“No?”

“No. Bill is going to fucking wait.” Ford ignored the cackling laughter he heard at those words. He squared his shoulders, “I’m not going home until you’re coming with me.”

Stanley could only stare at him for a moment before saying, “Well that’s fucking dumb. You’ve got work to get going on, once you’ve had food and a solid eight hours of sleep—”

“You’re coming back to the house with me and then we’re going to figure this out.”

“Figure what out, Ford? Exactly what do you think we can figure out?” Stanley asked, starting to get annoyed.

“This!”

“What’s ‘this’? The fighting? Ford, we had a fight ten years ago and I don’t think we’ve stopped fighting since. I mean, you fucking hate me, even I know that.”

Ford stopped in his tracks.

“What? Stanley, I don’t…I don’t hate you.”

Stanley made an obnoxious buzzer sound, “Try again Ford, lying isn’t tolerated in this game.”

Well that was hypocritical, but Ford let it slide. This wasn’t the time. He hesitated, then spoke slowly, “Stanley, about what I said yesterday…”

“At breakfast? We don’t need to go into that; I barely remember it after that hypothermia crap.” Stanley had that gambling look in his eye again and Ford’s mouth thinned.

“I thought lying wasn’t tolerated in this game.”

Stanley winced, “Yeah well, we still don’t have to go into it. You said some things that you’d probably been itching to say for a while, I went—”

“What? Stanley, no, I didn’t mean those things.”

“Who’s lying now?” Stanley shot back at him. Ford glared,

“I’m not lying. It’s just…Stanley, you know I’m stressed and not really in the most solid state of mind.”

“Well I knew you had to be in a bad way if you were talking to me again—”

Ford cut him off, “Sending you that postcard was possibly the last thing I did in an absolutely lucid state of mind. Stanley, Bill is a dream demon. He’s in the house, in my head, in my dreams. I can’t…” Ford trailed off before taking a deep breath. “Never mind. Those are excuses. What I mean to say is…” This was what he should have said when he opened the door on Stanley standing in the middle of an Oregon winter. He felt the words go out of him in a rush, like pressure finally released from a bottle, “I’m sorry. For the things I said, now and when Pa kicked you out.”

That was it. That was all Stanley had ever wanted to hear. For the last ten fucking years, that’s what he’d been waiting on. And now Ford had said it. Stanley glared at him,

“Why are you doing this now, Ford? Up until yesterday you didn’t even want me on the same fucking continent and now you’re sorry? What do you want? I already said I’d take your stupid journal and throw it into a deep dark pit.”

“I just…God, Stanley, I’ve made so many mistakes over the years, things I can never fix and consequences I will never outrun. But our fight, losing contact with you, that’s a mistake I can fix.” Ford hesitated and looked away from Stanley’s inquiring gaze, “At least I hope I can.” Maybe it was too late. Ford had said words that were unforgivable. He’d watched his own brother get kicked out of the house at an age where, looking back, neither of them had been remotely prepared to make it on their own. His brother had been kicked out with a second-hand car and a pre-packed bag, and Ford had done nothing. And when he saw Stan for the first time in ten years, in _ten years_ , all Ford did was repeat their own father’s words. Maybe there was no coming back from what Ford had done, what he’d ruined. And it all started with a stupid science project, how could he be so stupid—

Ford was pulled out of his devolving thought process by Stan’s grin, “You want to be brothers again?”

Something in Ford’s stomach dropped, “You thought we weren’t brothers anymore?”

Stan shrugged, “Not like we used to be. I mean…” Stanley was about to explain it, to clarify that at a certain point in the past ten years he realized that Ford had forgotten him, but the heartbroken expression on Ford’s face made him stop. There was no reason to dig into that wound. He smiled shakily, “But hey, I’m all for being brothers again. Help me break out of this hospital and we can go be brothers by punching that deranged corn chip right in his stupid eye.”

As the nurse returned with Stanley’s clothes and he charmed her into leaving them alone, Ford could feel a tiny smile sneaking up to his face. They were okay. Stanley was okay. Bill was still an issue and Ford knew he had his own things to sort out, but this was okay. This was good. Better, even.

He had his brother again.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, the school year is kicking my ass in a big way, but have one of the longest things I've ever written. If you notice any particularly horrific typos or things I probably left as a placeholder but forgot to change, lemme know and I can fix it.
> 
> Anyway, I hope everyone is having a good fall/winter and best of luck to anyone in school. May the finals be ever in your favor.


End file.
